Daughter of a God
by Ace of Gallifrey
Summary: She has traveled the stars for so long and listened to so many stories. And in the end, all the stories say the same thing. Just an odd, pretentious little oneshot, in which Jenny reflects on her father and what he is to the universe.


**Title-** Daughter of a God  
**Characters/Pairings-** Jenny, Doctor  
**Rating-** T  
**Summary- **She has traveled the stars for so long and listened to so many stories. And in the end, all the stories say the same thing. Just an odd little piece, in which Jenny reflects on her father and what he is to the universe.

* * *

She has traveled the stars for so long and listened to so many stories. It's what she does, you see. She travels through space (and more recently time, once she worked out how to build a vortex capsule), seeking out a history for herself. She travels to faraway worlds and long-ago times and she follows in _his_ footsteps and she learns. She learns about everything and anything. She learns about the man who has touched every star, or so it seems.

There are a million stories about him, about the man who gave her life. And in the end, all the stories say the same thing.

Loved or hated, revered or feared, every civilization she's ever stumbled upon knows him. They all have different names for him.

The Wanderer.

The Destroyer of Worlds.

The Man Without A Home.

He Who Dances In Lonely Places.

Time's Champion.

The Oncoming Storm.

The Lonely God.

Rides In Night.

Theta Sigma.

So many others. And always, always, the Doctor.

Over the centuries- and it has been centuries, with her never aging a day- Jenny Without A Home has realized something. She's studied the faith and dogma of dozens- maybe hundreds- of religions across the galaxies. But, somehow, she's never been able to believe in any of them. And now, at last, she's realized why.

If anyone in the universe is a god, it is her father. She can see Time now- it took her a few steps short of forever to learn the tricks, but there it is- and she can see the whole of creation in a way that no one she knows ever will. And throughout that great weave of Everything, there is one constant thread running through it: the Doctor. His life runs back and forth through the universe, convoluted and twisting and impossible to see the end of, from just moments after the creation of the world to 100 trillion years into the future at the end of all things. She can see it, and she sees what it all means.

He may not be a god in the human sense. He is not all-powerful, nor did he create the universe. But he is bound so tightly into the fabric of all reality that he cannot possibly be just another citizen. She can picture what would happen if the bright, burning thread of his life were to be pulled out of the weave. Everything would collapse, and reality would unravel like so much tangled yarn. More than any other living creature, more than any person or event or place, he is the backbone of Time and the universe.

This, she supposes, is why those ancient Time Lord laws against non-interference were put into place: Time is too easily changed. And if one person is bound this closely to the fate of everyone and everything, the way the Doctor has done... that is so dangerous. Because if he were somehow... _removed_... it would all fall apart. Nothing but cinders.

She thinks back on those ancient words she read once, spoken by a schoolboy and copied down by a medical student and, so many millions of years later (or earlier, if one wants to get technical), carved by herself in ancient Gallifreyan onto the oldest cliff in the universe:

_He's like fire, and ice, and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of Time and he can see the turn of the universe. And... he's wonderful._

She likes to consider herself wise, by now. She's seen so much, with all the friends she makes across centuries withering before her eyes while she stands, eternal, against the ravages of Time and still desperately trying to find him, always searching for his latest face. But even she, with all her collected knowledge, could never have found such simple and beautiful words for the concept.

But she doesn't mind. For good or for ill, she's the daughter of a god.

And she's busy weaving herself through Time as well.


End file.
